Mafia Obsession

Scarlet

I turn back to the bed in case I’ve somehow missed something. Mom left her lamp on. Maybe so she could see as she arranged her pillows to make it look like she was sleeping. When I came home, I checked on her, saw the pillows, and assumed she was asleep.

The crashing noise came from a book she left on the bedside table, balanced precariously. If it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t even know she’s missing right now.

Elio walks up beside me, dark and handsome in his black T-shirt, silver- streaked hair catching the light, his muscles firm, and… And what the hell am I thinking? Dad’s gone. Mom’s gone. Despite that, I can’t stop thinking about Elio’s muscles.

“There’s a note,” Elio says, kneeling down next to the book. He stands, holding up a small piece of paper. He’s about to read it. Then he pauses and hands it to me.

I sit on the bed, my throat tight, my belly buzzing with nerves. It’s not fair. A few minutes ago, I was in a dream. Elio’s hand was blazing pleasure between my legs. I forgot everything: my fear, doubt, inexperience, Mom and Dad, even the debt.

I’m sorry, Scarlet. I’ve gone to find your father. He called me when you were at work and told me where he is. It’s not a good neighborhood. It’s even worse than ours if you can imagine it. I should be back before you have a chance to read this note. I love you. Be strong.

“Maybe she’ll be back by morning,” I mutter, handing the note to Elio.

He reads it, his jaw tight, the tension in him easily readable. “There’s not enough information here. Do you have any idea where she’s talking about?”

“N-no,” I say, wiping my cheeks. These tears are so annoying. “Dad’s the one who disappears. Mom usually waits until he’s back. If she’s gone too, he must’ve told her he’s somewhere awful.”

“In this city, that doesn’t narrow it down much.” Elio takes out his phone. “That settles it then.”

“Settles what?”

“You’re staying at my parents’ place.”

“What?”

“It’s the most secure location in this city. A penthouse with twenty-four- hour security. It’s far more secure than my apartment.”

“But what if Mom comes back?”

“I’ll have some men waiting just in case. They can bring her to you.” “But-”

He spins on me, and suddenly, I see the don, Elio Marino, not the man I just kissed. I see the darkness in his eyes, the capacity for violence. “This isn’t a discussion anymore. You’re not staying here. That’s the end of it.”

“But what if she doesn’t come back?” “We’ll find her and your dad,” he says. “I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Not anymore, you don’t,” he grunts. “Pack a bag. We’re leaving soon. Don’t fight me on this. If I have to kidnap you, goddamn it, I will, Scarlet.” He looms over me, veins bulging in his neck. “Have I made myself clear?”

I glare up at him, but what other choice do I have? Maybe it’s a naive reason, but after kissing him, after being intimate with him, I’m convinced he’s not tricking me.

“Promise me you’ll find her,” I say, stepping forward, close enough so we’re almost touching.

“I’ve lived too long in this city to make promises like that,” he replies.

“No,” I almost yell. I grab his arms and squeeze him tightly like I was minutes ago, except this is an entirely different kind of passion. “You have to promise. You have to. I can’t lose Mom.”

He swallows, leans down, and brushes his lips against my cheek. Then he finds my lips. We kiss, the steaminess tempting me to melt against him, forgetting about the heartache, stress, and doubt. I want to forget about Mom and Dad and just be with Elio.

Pushing against his chest, I lean away. “Promise me.”

He sighs darkly. “I promise, Scarlet. I’ll find her, but I’m not risking you. Pack a bag. Now.”

I turn away, leaving the room. In my bedroom, as I pack my ratty old suitcase-the one I used to dream about filling with clothes for college- it’s like I’m watching myself. I’m in the corner of the room, watching this scared woman get ready to go and live with the mafia boss and his parents. It’s almost too surreal for me to take seriously.

Once I’ve stuffed some clothes into the suitcase, I carry it into the living room. Elio is on the phone, pacing up and down. “That’s right. No. Just sit tight and tell me if anybody comes by. Yeah, exactly. Easy work.”

He hangs up, turning to me. “Ready?” “I think so,” I murmur. “It’s just…”

He walks over to me, so huge, so experienced. It’s crazy to think how steamy we were getting not that long ago. He takes the suitcase from me, holding it with one hand. With the other, he brushes the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

“Just what?” he asks.

“This… everything… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real.”

“You don’t have to worry,” he says. “I’m going to make this right. Let’s go.”

“What about your men? Don’t they need us here to let them in?” “No,” Elio says. “Locks aren’t really a problem for us.”

He leads me from the apartment. My head is spinning. Can I trust him? But it’s too late for questions like that.

I lock the door behind us, and then he leads me down the stairs. He keeps his hand on my back, warm tingles flowing up and down my body. Despite everything-the tears, the stress, the wondering-I still feel myself smiling as he pushes against me. I forcibly wipe the smile away a moment later. I can’t get involved in some impossible, dreamy romance when Mom and Dad are missing.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he tells me, as if reading my mind. “How can you be sure of that?” I ask.

“Because I made a promise.”

“And you never break your promises?”

Before we walk onto the street, he turns to me, staring down with those intense eyes. I still can’t believe what we just did. What were we going to do if that book never fell off the shelf? We would’ve gotten even steamier. Maybe I would’ve had to tell him just how inexperienced I am. All the while, Mom would be out there, somewhere, lost in the city.

“Not to you,” Elio says, brushing hair from my face again. Already, it’s one of my favorite things that he does.

He takes my hand. We approach his car. It looks out of place on this street. It’s a sleek, dark car with tinted windows. It’s not flashy with outlandish rims or anything like that, but it looks far too expensive. He opens the trunk, puts my suitcase inside, and then nods to the passenger seat.

“Get in.”

Somehow, another smile touches my lips. “Are you always this bossy?” He smirks. “You must bring it out in me.”

Again, I wipe the smile away, pulling the door open and climbing into the car. Every smile is a betrayal.

“I should be ashamed,” I mutter once he starts the engine. “Why?” he asks, pulling away from the parking spot.

“When Dad walked out, I thought nothing of it. It’s so normal. It’s just something he does. Honestly, sometimes, when he walks out, I wish he wouldn’t come back. That’s not something I’m proud of.”

“I understand,” Elio says.

“What? You can imagine thinking that about your own dad, too?” “No,” Elio snaps. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“Then how do you understand?” I say, matching his intensity.

“From what you’ve told me about your dad, he’s nothing like mine. Before the stroke, my dad was tough, sure. He was strict. He valued discipline above almost everything else, but he could also be kind. I’ve never had to wonder if my dad cared about me. Well, until recently.”

I place my hand on his arm. “I’m sure he cares about you. He just can’t tell you that anymore. For now, anyway.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty,” Elio says. “Your mom showed you love. Your dad didn’t. Naturally, you’d be more worried about one than the other.”

“Still, it doesn’t exactly make me a good daughter.”

“A man should be worried about being a good father if he wants a good daughter,” Elio snarls.

“You seemed passionate over text, too, about children. About fatherhood.” I keep my gaze firmly planted forward on the road. The city is quiet, but there are a few nighttime wanderers.

“I guess I am,” Elio says. “Maybe it’s the Italian in me.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have children,” I reply, my belly tightening, that strange thought touching me again. It’s my womb, calling to him, begging for a future I didn’t know I wanted until tonight. Well, yesterday, technically.

“My mother feels the same,” he says with a gruff laugh.

It seems like a way of avoiding the subject. “So why don’t you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I work a lot,” he says, “and I’ve got a baby brother. I always figured he’d be the one to continue the family line when he can stop his bar hopping and woman chasing.”

“But you want kids,” I go on.

I feel him look at me. I don’t turn to check if I’m right, but I’m sure I feel it

-his gaze burning into me. “You sound pretty certain about that.” “It’s the way you talk about it,” I say. “The passion in your voice.” “Yeah, well, maybe I’ve never found the right person.”

I could be the right person, I almost say, but it’s so much easier to be forward and confident via text. I almost take out my phone and shoot him a message, but texting in the same car would be even weirder than texting in the same room. I squeeze down on my knees, thinking of all the things that could be happening to Mom. None of them are good.

“What are you going to tell your parents?” I ask, eager for conversation to distract myself from the torturing thoughts.

“I’m not sure yet,” Elio replies. “The truth would be ideal. They’re good people. They’ll want to help you. The only thing that gives me pause is Russel.”

“Russel?”

“The man you saw at my table. You said he looked shocked when he saw you.”

“I’m not sure if it was shock or surprise. His eyes got really wide. It could’ve just been recognition. It could’ve been a threat, like he was looking at me to say, Be quiet. Or something like that. I don’t know. Or maybe it’s all in my head.”

“In this life, you learn to trust hunches,” Elio says. “Russel and my family are working together. If I tell the truth, there’s a small chance he’ll hear about it. What about singing?”

I swallow, nerves suddenly touching me. “What about it?” “Well, how good are you?”

I stare stubbornly out the window. I feel him glancing at me every few moments, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. I’ve never been able to talk about singing with other people, let alone sing for them, except Mom.

“I’m not sure,” I say.

“I saw those books in your room.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t get good at singing by reading books.” “Don’t be so damn humble,” he says fiercely.

“How are you so sure I’m being humble?” I snap, finally turning to him. He glances at me with penetrating eyes, a gaze that cuts right into me. “I could completely suck, and what does this have to do with anything, anyway?”

“It could be a possible alibi. We’ll give you a fake name. I’ll tell my folks I hired you to sing for my dad. He used to love live music.”

I smooth my hands over my belly as if to trap the anxiety. “I don’t know about that,” I say. “I’ve only ever sung in front of my mom.”

“What’s her opinion of your talents?”

“Good, but she’s dosed up half the time. Plus, of course, she’ll say I’m good.”

I flinch when he slams his hand against the steering wheel. He sits up, his body getting harder, seeming to get bigger, as if he’s going to erupt from his clothes. “Stop putting yourself down.”

“Whoa.” I lean away from him, even if my instincts tell me to get closer, place my hand against his arm, squeeze, and feel his strength. Feel his power. Just feel him. “You don’t have to get mad about it.”

“Stop putting yourself down,” he says, then releases a long breath. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“You’re sort of acting like I should,” I mutter. “You seem pretty pissed.”

“It’s just… you don’t need to criticize yourself. If you want to sing, sing. If you’re not where you want to be, you can work to improve.”

We don’t say anything for a while. His explosion has left me confused and also curious. Why does he care if I criticize myself? He’s clearly interested in me physically, which is crazy enough. With how passionate he just got, he may be interested in me emotionally, too.

“We can think of another alibi,” Elio says.

“I’m probably wrong about the look Russel gave me anyway. I’m probably reading way too much into that.”

“I’m not taking that risk,” he growls.

He’s not taking that risk, implying he’d care if something happened to me. At first, I thought this came back to the Good Samaritan thing. Now, it seems a whole lot more significant than that.

“Maybe we could try the singing,” I murmur. “What type of music does your dad like?”

“Love songs,” Elio says, with a wry smile, watching the road but really looking into the past. He’s got a dreamy look on his face as though he’s disappearing into a memory. “He always used to say that love songs are the best type for hard men. It reminds them that there’s more to life. It reminds them that it’s okay to be soft sometimes in the right contexts and with the right people. Do you know any love songs?”

Heat blooms in my cheeks. A background track in my mind is whispering that I should be thinking about Mom. I am endlessly wondering, but I should just be thinking about Mom, not this connection, not my embarrassment.

“What is it?” he says. “What’s what?” I ask.

“Your face just told a whole story.” “Maybe you should watch the road.”

He laughs huskily. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but it feels like a proud laugh. “Is it strange, Scarlet, that I like it when you talk back to me?”

“Maybe you’re just not used to it.”

“True,” he replies. “Are you going to tell me or not?” “It’s just… I’ve written a few love songs. That’s all.”

He pulls the car up to the side of the road. We’re in the middle of a residential area, a neighborhood a cut above ours. This is the kind of place that doesn’t have people gathered on every corner, nobody warming their hands by a barrel. It’s quiet.

“Let’s hear one, then,” he says. “Are you serious? No way.”

He smirks. “I didn’t ask you, Scarlet. Sing one of your love songs for me.”

I fold my arms, glaring at him and almost smiling again. This attraction must be on an entirely different level, so intense I’m able to smile at him now. Mom, Mom, Mom should be the only thing on my mind.

“This will help find your mom,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “The alibi will keep you safe, giving me the time I need.”

“Are they really going to believe you hired a live-in singer?” I ask.

“Yes,” Elio says confidently, reaching over and touching my leg. A tantalizing tingle dances up my thigh and teases my core. “That’s how rich assholes like us live.”

“You’re not an asshole,” I say.

He smirks. “But I am rich. Trust me, they’ll believe it if…” “It’s okay. You can say it. If I’m good enough.”

“We can think of another alibi, but something tells me we won’t need to.” “Oh, really?”

“There’s no way your voice isn’t as angelic as you are.”

I shake my head, almost as if to push away my natural reaction. I can’t stop the stupid grinning. “If I do this, will you find my mom?”

“I’m going to find her anyway,” he quickly replies. “But it will help?”

He squeezes my leg. “Stop delaying. I’ve already told you it will.”

“It’s hard to sing sitting down,” I tell him. When he reaches for the car door, I quickly say, “But I can do it.”

I don’t want anybody else to hear me. It’s going to be difficult enough doing it in front of Elio-a stranger. Yet he doesn’t feel like as much of a stranger as he should. It must be the kissing, the steaminess.Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

“Don’t laugh, okay?”

“I’m not going to laugh at you,” he snarls, sounding pissed. “Sing for me, Scarlet.”

I start tapping my hand against my leg, humming softly, getting ready to make a complete fool of myself. At least I can tell myself I’m doing it for Mom.